Escaping Vegas (The Inheritance Book 1) Read online

  “They wouldn’t, would they?” The thought terrified Madalina. There was nothing for miles and miles but barren, irritatingly hot desert. Even if she and Cole escaped a shooting, they would have to call for help. Stranded on the roadside for hours left them vulnerable to another attack.

  “Can’t say for sure.” After a moment, he said, “Get ready. Here they come.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Cole tightened his hands on the wheel. It wasn’t entirely from the wariness of the speeding vehicle coming up fast on the left; Madalina’s questions had spurred some of his own, until he’d found himself discussing things like parents, traveling, and residences. Next thing he knew, she’d bring up weddings and babies, and that would never do. He reminded himself that he needed to be here and that he was finding out necessary things about her.

  When the car caught up to the Jaguar, Cole gripped the wheel and maintained a steady speed of sixty-seven, a slower pace than the hectic hundred-mile-an-hour escape from Vegas. One glance out his window proved that the Chinese agents, crafty and smart and excellent strategists, had found them once again. He didn’t have time to think about where the men had picked up their trail. For all he knew, the men had seen them get off the highway and, because the freeway only went north or south, had simply waited until spotting the Jag speeding up the on-ramp—because he had a more pressing issue: how to end the chase once and for all. He understood why the assailants had chosen to hang back and follow, preferring to make a move here, where the gloomy Mojave Desert, empty of houses and business and life in general, provided few witnesses to a blatant attack.

  Cole swerved the Jaguar sharply left, as if he intended to ram the sedan. The scare tactic sent the sedan veering to the far side of the double-lane highway, nearly off the road entirely, which gave him the opportunity to speed up. The Jaguar handled brilliantly, surging lengths ahead in seconds. He topped eighty, ninety, ignoring Madalina’s gasp and whimper. Digging out a gun from a sheath attached to the front of his seat beneath his legs, he set the weapon sideways on his lap and hit the brakes hard, sending the car into a sideways skid. Once it came to a stop crosswise in the middle of the road, he rolled down his window, picked up the gun, and thumbed the safety off. The sedan sped straight for them, probably intending to T-bone the Jaguar.

  “They’re going to hit us! Cole! What are you doing?” Madalina shouted.

  Calmly breathing through his nose, Cole popped off several rounds. He didn’t aim for the windshield or the occupants, although that would have been a more permanent solution. He shot out the tires, satisfied to see the sedan start to fishtail and lose control. Tucking the gun down between the seat and the console, he spun the wheel and sped away from the hurtling sedan, thankful that this desolate stretch of highway had no travelers in their immediate vicinity. Headlights a mile or more up the road, and perhaps a mile behind, were no issue for Cole. No one would be able to tell what he’d done or that he’d used a weapon to stop his adversary. Back in the correct lane, he slammed the pedal down and got the hell out of there. In the rearview mirror, the sedan was on the side of the road, out of commission for now.

  Glancing aside, he met Madalina’s disbelieving stare. He said, “They were on our tail. Now they’re not.”

  “How did you . . . when . . . they could have—”

  “But they didn’t. I’m a professional—didn’t I mention that?”

  “You drive like a stunt car driver in the movies!”

  Cole surprised himself and laughed. He never saw his driving skills as anything other than necessity. “Maybe. I can teach you how.”

  Madalina scoffed and flipped a hand in the air, as if the idea was preposterous. Her indignation amused him despite the serious situation they found themselves in.

  “It’s good to know how to drive defensively,” he said. “It comes in handy now and again.”

  “Yes, if you’re James Bond, which I’m clearly not,” she said. Her voice trembled. She released the console and laid a hand over her heart.

  “I’m not either, and you can see what it did for us.” In his periphery, he saw her shoot him a suspicious glance.

  “You’re not really a bodyguard, are you?” she asked, as if she suddenly knew he’d been lying to her.

  Had Cole been less experienced, less in control of himself and his reactions, her declaration might have startled a guilty look out of him. “What? Yes, I am.”

  “You’re ex-CIA or FBI or Special Squad Something-or-Other, aren’t you? No one drives and shoots like that.”

  He barked a laugh, allowing amusement to get the better of him. “Honey, I am one hundred and fifty percent not with the CIA or an ex-special operative from any division.”

  “I’m not sure I believe you.” She sounded somewhat mollified, however.

  He checked his mirrors after glimpsing a hint of color on her cheeks. She would have been a pleasure to seduce under different circumstances. “But do you trust me?”

  Silence descended in the car. Finally, after a contemplative moment, she said, “Actually—yes. Yes, I do.”

  Cole didn’t expect the flush of guilt and regret he experienced at her confession.

  It’s all part of the job. Get over it.

  By the time they reached Victorville, Madalina had sufficiently recovered from the resonant, sexy “honey” Cole had so casually thrown into the conversation. The distraction of hearing the endearment—one he probably used on many women—helped her get past the panic at his Bond moves in the car. It wasn’t often Madalina found herself in awe of anyone—but Cole was an exception. The brake-and-slide move had impressed the hell out of her. Scared her half to death, but impressed her nevertheless. She’d spent the ensuing ride in companionable silence, thinking about everything that had happened in Vegas, and since. Cole had proven to be trustworthy, dependable, and excellent at keeping her out of the hands of her assailants. Men who were willing to kidnap her, force them off the road, and who knew what else. She tried to hide her distress over the situation from Cole, but the closer they got to Los Angeles, the more nervous she became.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” he said into the silence.

  “It’s a buck-fifty. Inflation,” she retorted in a quiet voice. She heard him draw in a breath, as if he might laugh. He didn’t—more the pity. Cole West had an alluring, appealing laugh. Full throated, slightly raspy, like his speaking voice.

  “All right. A buck-fifty.”

  “I was wondering what I’m going to do when I get home.” What I’m going to do without you to consult in emergencies. All of a sudden, she had a brilliant idea. “Wait. How much do you charge for your services?”

  Cole rubbed the side of his chin with two fingers. He didn’t take his eyes off the road. “You know, I mentioned that you don’t have to pay me for driving you back to LA. I offered—”

  “No, not for this. But for tomorrow, and the next day. Until I can figure out what to do. How much do you charge for bodyguard services?” Madalina thought she had found a way to keep him with her under better circumstances than begging and pleading. She really didn’t have the money for this, but she also didn’t want to be kidnapped. Or worse.

  “Seven hundred dollars a day, base price.”

  Madalina wheezed. “What?”

  He smiled, and Madalina realized that it was the first time she’d seen him smile like that. Broad, devilish, yet a touch boyish, too.

  “You didn’t think risking my life for strangers came cheap, did you?”

  “But . . . oh.” Madalina simply couldn’t afford it. She might have been able to swing two-fifty or three, for a few days only, but not seven hundred per day. “I suppose not. I guess I don’t get out enough or something. So seven hundred is the base price—you mean it fluctuates up from there?”

  “Yes. Depending on how far I have to travel, how dangerous the assignment is, and how high profile the cl
ient.”

  “My goodness.”

  “It can be a demanding job.”

  “So can dealing with uppity, high-maintenance women who expect three-thousand-dollar dresses for fifty bucks.” Sometimes owning a clothing boutique that catered to the upper middle class could be downright frustrating.

  “It’s funny. When I first ran into you in the Luxor, I thought you were uppity and high maintenance.”

  Gasping, Madalina glanced across the car. “What? I am anything but uppity and high maintenance.”

  “The jury is still out on that.”

  “I could really use a drink. And I’m not bringing it up because I’m high maintenance, but because I’ve been in the car for three hours and I’m thirsty.” She got a little sassy with him, although inwardly, she contemplated whether or not she really was high maintenance.

  “And you say you’re not uppity,” he muttered, checking the rearview mirror before taking the next exit.

  “It was a request!”

  He shot her a disbelieving look tinged with ill-concealed humor.

  “Just get me something to drink, James,” she retorted to his glance, harking back to the Bond conversation.

  “That’ll be fifteen-fifty, gypsy girl,” he countered glibly, as if he intended to start charging her piecemeal instead of per day. Madalina muffled a laugh against the knuckles of her closed fist.

  Victorville was a sprawling city of light, even at this hour of the morning. The grid stretched away from the freeway on both sides, fading into the distance of the dark desert. The businesses clustered near the I-15 glowed with overhead lighting—the bright signs for gas, fast food, and other services on prominent display.

  “What do you want? Drive through or stop at the convenience store and stretch your legs?” he asked.

  “Is it safe to get out?”

  “Probably. I can’t be sure, but so far, I haven’t seen anyone who looks like they’re on our tail. I’m betting that other car will be out of commission for an hour at least.” He turned into a gas station, a convenience store with a large sign across the front of the white and red building. Gas pumps sat ready for service under a matching red and white awning.

  “This is fine. I’ll only be a second. Do you want something?”

  “I’m going to fill up while you get drinks. Grab me a bottle of water.” He eased the Jaguar to a stop right in front of the doors. There were few cars in the parking lot this late, which meant he wasn’t in jeopardy of blocking anyone in.

  Madalina didn’t waste time. She headed inside, cutting through the candy aisle toward the refrigeration units. A cold burst of air caressed her skin as she opened a door where different labels of water sat in neat rows. Madalina chose two and pulled them from the rack. She walked her purchases to the counter, made small talk with the skinny, beak-nosed clerk, and declined a bag when he offered one. Madalina wasn’t sure what to think of the small blitz of excitement she experienced seeing Cole leaning against the car, the nozzle tucked into the gas tank. He surveyed the streets, the parking lot, the front of the store—where his gaze paused on her for a moment.

  Another, smaller thrill rushed through her. She hurried across the parking lot, aware that it was dangerous to linger. For the first time in a long time, Madalina felt alive in unfamiliar ways. She considered the incredible idea that she’d become a little tired and jaded with life these last few years, that she’d allowed work to consume her. She was twenty-four—too young to feel so set in her ways. Although she didn’t appreciate the unexpected danger that could crop up any second, she was also becoming used to the rush of adrenaline. Meeting Cole’s eyes across the top of the car, she opened the door. His expression was unreadable, complicated—just like the man. Sliding into the seat, she set the bottles into the cup holders, dragged her purse onto her lap, and was just about to close the door when Cole appeared. He met her eyes again, then tapped the door shut. Twisting a look over her shoulder, she tracked his progress around the back of the Jaguar, then reached for her drink. She didn’t know what to make of all the lingering glances, except that they were getting to her. He exuded poise and confidence that she found highly appealing. Once in the driver’s seat, he started the car.

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling away from the pump.

  “You’re welcome.” After a much-needed drink of water, she said, “In times like these, when it’s calm and normal, I’m almost convinced that no one is out there hunting me down.”

  Cole took the entrance to the freeway. He said, “They are. They’re out there, and they’re not finished with you yet.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The congestion of Southern California extended even into the earliest morning hours. Traffic wasn’t nearly as heavy now as it would be in three or four hours, but there was proof that workers were already getting a jump-start on their drive. Those who had five o’clock start times departed their house at three-thirty, and so on.

  Madalina guided Cole to the edge of Whittier, then onto the surface streets, using her knowledge of the city to take every back road they could. Paranoia still lived with her, despite the lack of an incident in the final stretch home.

  Home. Madalina wasn’t sure she would feel entirely safe within the beloved walls of her rented house. She had nowhere else to go, at least not anywhere that wouldn’t put someone else in danger. What would Cole do once they arrived? Would he drop her at the curb? Stay an hour or two? Paying his exorbitant bodyguard fees was out of the question, but she’d made it clear she wanted his help. Perhaps he would stay at a nearby hotel, remaining in constant contact. The thought of separation still unnerved her. She didn’t want to be alone. Visions of sedans cruising past her house, stalking her, waiting for her to set foot outside, persisted.

  In an older section of town, Madalina directed Cole to Wildflower Way, a charming street of small but quaint homes built at the turn of the century. The boughs of trees interlaced overhead, creating a dappled effect of moonlight and shadow on the asphalt.

  “Right up here. Two fourteen,” she said, pointing to a blue house with white trim. She’d left the porch light on to deter any would-be thieves. A small stone pathway led from a buckled sidewalk to her front steps, the tiny yard of green, green grass freshly mowed and manicured.

  Everything looked as it should.

  Cole pulled to the curb, habitually surveying the street in all directions. When he turned his shoulders to peer out the back, his arm brushed hers. Madalina refused to be distracted by the swell of muscle under his gray shirt.

  Now came the awkward part. She fiddled with the strap of her purse, thinking of several different openings, working on how to ask him where she could find him if trouble came up.

  “Looks peaceful enough.” He put the car in park and cut the engine. “Come on.”

  Surprised, but not about to argue with his decision to accompany her to the door, Madalina disembarked and met him on the sidewalk.

  “Careful. The city hasn’t fixed this yet.” She gestured to the buckled section of concrete in front of her yard. Roots from the giant trees sometimes wreaked havoc on the sidewalks, creating a tripping hazard. The residents, including Madalina, wouldn’t have it any other way. The trees were a barrier to the rest of the city, providing pleasant greenery and an almost woodsy feel to the street.

  “Got it.” He led the way up her walk and took the three steps to her porch in one long stride.

  Madalina fished her keys out of her purse, caught between the desire to stare at him in front of her door and to look warily over her shoulder. She couldn’t help herself. The almost-abduction was still too fresh in her mind.

  “Here.” He held his hand out for her keys.

  Madalina, saved from having to bring up the subject of him leaving, readily placed her keys in his palm. She shivered when their fingers brushed.

  He inserted the key into one lock, then
another, and twisted the doorknob.

  Madalina checked the street one more time, then followed him in. She didn’t get very far. Bumping into his back, the material of his shirt muffling an oomph of surprise, she realized that Cole had gone utterly still and silent. Half in and half out of the doorway, she whispered, “What’s wrong?”

  “Stay here. I mean it; don’t move.” He stepped forward into the house. The soles of his boots cracked and crunched over what sounded like shattered glass.

  Once his body receded into the shadowy interior of the living room, Madalina had a clear view of the destruction. In the gloom, she recognized the shattered remnants of her lamps, the stuffing from her hunter-green couch, shredded accent pillows and curtains that now overlapped the tipped-over dining table. Pieces of her grandmother’s china were scattered throughout the living room, small dining area, and probably the equally small kitchen at the back of the house. The rugs were ruined, her collectibles broken into unrecognizable slivers of porcelain. Even the single curio that she’d saved six months to buy had been tipped over, the glass in shards on the carpet. The beloved objects that had once been inside lay strewn here and there, lost amid the chaos.

  She could not comprehend the viciousness with which someone had hacked her life to pieces. A hand flew to her mouth, covering a gasp of shock and dismay.

  Cole disappeared into the shadowy niche of a bedroom doorway, then reappeared a few moments later. He did the same with her bedroom, then the bathroom, and stalked through the living room to the kitchen. She didn’t need to be told that the other rooms in the house were as devastated as the living room. His grim expression said better than words that her once-tidy home was in shambles. All of it. Every room. Tears welled, threatening to spill over. She choked on a sob, smothered the sound with her palm, and inwardly cursed the bastards who had stripped her life bare. Of freedom, of security, of comfort. It was more than the loss of everything she’d worked so hard for; a profound sense of violation settled over her and refused to leave. Someone had shredded even her most personal things, ripping her life apart one thread at a time, leaving only callous destruction behind. It was as if her things meant nothing; therefore, she meant nothing. The sense of desolation and loss was a great sinkhole, ready to swallow her whole.